


Drowning Anchors

by Sharkseye



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Demon Stiles Stilinski, Episode: s02e04 Abomination, M/M, Relatively Dark, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharkseye/pseuds/Sharkseye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate version of Abomination, in which Scott doesn't come and Stiles isn't as human as he's always pretended to be.  Just as Derek's lost all hope that they're going to get out of the pool alive, Stiles comes up with an alternative.  Either a beginning or an end.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Afterwards, I promise you can attack me, get angry, do whatever, but you need to listen to me on this, or none of it will have been worth it.  I’m not really sure that it was in the first place, but hey, we’ll figure it out as we go.”  Here he pauses and grins.  “It’ll be our little secret Derek.  Of fangs, claws, blood, and eyes colored by the universe.  I’ll have to trust you, and you’ll have to trust me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first section is all explanations from Stiles' mind and in past tense, then after the ~*~ it switches to Derek's POV of Abomination and present tense. Umm... I don't really know where this came from, but enjoy?
> 
> Also, a cover was created for this story by 'The_Obfuscators_Canard', it's at the bottom under 'Works inspired by this one'. Seriously people, go look at it. And turn the brightness up on whatever device you're using so you can understand it's full awesomeness. 
> 
> Lastly, yes, I will write another chapter, but I've no idea when it'll be done. :D

Stiles has heard the many stories humanity has made up about demons before. He’s heard of black-eyed people who had been taken over and possessed, humans as puppets.  He’s heard of fiery creatures crawling up from the depths of hell to rain fire and destruction amongst the people.  He’s heard of whispered thoughts in the back of your mind, nudging you along, telling you no one cared, and wouldn’t something like this be fun?  So ya, Stiles has definitely heard of demons, tons of stories about them, hours of mostly useless research.  But the most important stories he knows of demons, the ones he keeps close to his heart and remembers every single word of, are the ones his mom told him.  The true ones that people have taken snippets of and woven into their own stories.  The real stories were told late at night, because dad shouldn’t know, he wouldn’t understand.  Couldn’t understand, because the truth was too scary for anyone other than Stiles and his mom, it was their little secret.  There were millions of secrets in the world, billions of them.  For example, Stiles never learned about the secret of werewolves, of fangs and claws, until his best friend was bitten, pulled into that secret and taking Stiles with him, unaware that Stiles already had a secret of his own

Stiles’ secret was of demons, of blood and eyes colored by the universe.  That was always how his mom had put it, at least.  She and Stiles were different than the humans, and though she never wanted her son to find out from experience just how different they were, he needed to know.  Know about the changes, know about the blood lusts and cravings, about the person locked inside their own mind and buried six feet under a Jeffery Pine tree and California Bay Laurel, but more of that later.  Because of course it was all far more complicated than that and his mom had spent hours explaining just how that was, repeating and drilling knowledge into her son, things that no one else was allowed to know because it was their little secret.

As for what a demon was, they had two forms, one that looked completely human, and one that did not.  The second form wasn’t grotesque or disgusting, but in the Uncanny Valley that all, _almost_ human things resided in, a form Stiles had gotten used to seeing early on when his mother showed him hers.  Demon’s eyes were black, but if one was to get close enough they would see small bursts of color, ever changing and coalescing, disappearing and merging.  Their teeth didn’t have four perfect canines like the fangs of Hollywood horrors, but were thicker, nicer, and more even than the vampires from Supernatural.  Whipcord black snakeskin tails ended in points that the human image of their kind had bastardized and made silly, while claws were far more like bird talons.  Other superior attributes were added to senses, advanced healing, shadows followed them like pets, and the potential for chaos and bloodlust was conveniently built in.   (His mom hadn’t used those words, but over time Stiles understood what she meant)

Not that he knew or understood any of this from personal experience, because he hadn’t killed an anchor yet—and what a terrible name for creating someone to keep demons human.  The first time his mom had said such a thing, Stiles had been so confused as to why one would kill a device used to restrict the movement of vessels in water, but then she had explained, and later he drew parallels with werewolf anchors.  Whatever gene created a demon was dominant, so one born from a human and demon—an anomaly, even after countless generations of demons had been born amongst humans—like Stiles could tap into their calling only by killing their anchor.  To do so, a dormant demon first had to find an anchor, a person to keep them grounded and sane, and then kill them.  Drown them in the demon’s own blood.  

Both types of demon could have more than one anchor over the course of their life, but it was the first one they created that brings out their demon side.  From then on, the dormant part of them that made them a _demon_ was out and known, hidden at will, but always awake and aware.  But back to the creation of anchors, and this had been the part Stiles had found hard to listen to, not for what it normally meant, but for what it _could_ mean.  So yes, dormant demons would cut open an artery and hold it to someone’s mouth—be them another demon, human, or otherwise—forcing them to drink it in until they started breathing in blood, not stopping ‘til their lungs were filled with a demon’s life.  The anchor would be killed in this process, but their mind would still be awake to stabilize the freshly made demon.  The demon would then place the anchor somewhere that it couldn’t be found and torn apart, because if an anchor was to truly die, the demon would die with them.  Stiles’ mom had hidden her anchor in a coffin, six feet under fragrant and native plants inside a Californian forest.  She’d never told his dad that she was a demon, instead choosing to repress that side of her in order to live with him like a human.  The day she died had been coincidences piled on top of one another.  A logging company took down the forest, a hurricane tore up the exposed and muddy ground, and a fire had broken out in the aftermath before she could make it to where her anchor had been thrown.  Another anchor could be made as soon as a demons blood had healed enough for them to drown someone else, but Stiles’ mom hadn’t done so.  He still didn’t know why, what could’ve changed if he had asked his mom to do that instead of trying to keep her old anchor.

Anchors were demon’s weak points, the easiest way a demon could die, and Stiles knew weak points very well, he had no problem with them.  What part of the conversation about anchors that had scared him was the other thing a demon could do with their anchor, turn them into something called awakened anchors.  Most demons chose to hide theirs away, but one could also drown themselves with their anchor’s blood in the precious minutes after the anchor drowned and before their blood went cold.  Both the now awakened anchor and demon would live, but then the anchor would have oh so much power over the other—at least, that’s how it was explained, despite the fact that the demon had equal power over the anchor, more so if the anchor was human.  They would both be alive, but the anchor could be killed.  Two demons anchored on each other were nigh unstoppable, but an awakened anchor of any other species would only be created if the demon truly and utterly didn’t want them to live in that half-death, trapped inside their minds.  More on the plus side was that the awakened anchor and demon would have a connection, would always be able to tell where the other was and how healthy they were.  The anchor could draw on the demon’s power, could—if the connection was strong enough—keep themselves alive by retreating from their own mind and into the demons. 

Reserved for loved ones, Stiles’ mom always said, often glancing fondly at pictures of Stiles’ dad.  Stiles had asked why his dad wasn’t her awakened anchor then, and she had told him of the prejudices against demons, the reasons that this was their secret.  She would’ve loved to have his dad as her anchor, but she didn’t know if he’d forgive her for what she was. 

Another reason awakened anchors were reserved for loved ones was because another anchor couldn’t be created after having an awakened one.  They were a forever type thing.  Stiles’ mom had wanted forever with his dad.

But even for years after his mom died Stiles didn’t use any of this information because he was human, as human as one could be when they were a dormant demon, and that was how his mom had wished him to stay.  She told him about their species because she knew he’d need to know, despite also thinking she’d have many more years to explain in depth and talk to him about it, to explain things about demons that she’d only brushed the tip of while he was a child.  Only ever between the two of them though, because it was their little secret, of blood and eyes colored by the universe.

 

~*~

 

At the current moment in time, Derek would pretty much rather be anywhere other than where he is, paralyzed in however many feet of water and only not dead yet because he’s being held up by a sarcastic teenager who owes him nothing.  A teenager he pulled into this mess in the first place and yet is helping him all the same.

“Can you get me out of here before I drown?”  He asks because he can’t say anything else, wondering if the paralytic will wear off in time for him to shift and fight back against the lizard creature stalking around the pool.  (He knows it won’t, not before the thing decides to swim)

“You’re worried about drowning?  Did you notice the thing out there with multiple rows of razor sharp teeth?”  Because Stiles’ defence is sarcasm, and it so often makes Derek want to figure out a way to shut him up, either by tearing out his voice box or sticking something between his lips that he won’t be able to talk around. 

But that way lays madness, because Stiles is the Sheriff’s underage son, they barely know each other—not that this is anything other than lust—and they’re pretty much guaranteed to die in the next few minutes once the creature comes over to them and attacks, so it doesn’t matter.  Besides, if the creature does come, Stiles will leave Derek to be torn apart so he can get away.  That’s what Derek’s survival instincts like to think he would do.

“Did you notice that I’m paralyzed from the neck down in eight feet of water?”  Derek can’t stop his voice from rising at the end, so he makes himself sound angry instead of panicked.  He may have had many thoughts of giving up since Laura died and Peter woke up just to go crazy, but he doesn’t want to die. 

Stiles doesn’t reply to that, instead once again suggesting that the creature has gone, but this time it’s Derek who stops him from getting too close to the pools edge rather than the hiss-scream of the creature itself.  The thing is back, and Derek wants to close his eyes and look away, absolutely terrified and _so_ thankful that Stiles can’t smell it.  Paralyzed, eight feet of water, waiting for this thing to attack, with only Stiles for protection.  It’s like a bad joke, but Derek can’t find the punch line. 

“What’s it waiting for?”  Stiles asks as if Derek would know. 

His voice is amazingly steady for someone practically waiting to die, but then again he isn’t reliant on Derek to help him.  He should’ve run when Derek told him, not that the Alpha isn’t sickeningly grateful that he’s here now.  The creature approaches the pools edge and Stiles grip on Derek tightens to almost painful, the both of them just waiting for it to slide into the water.  But then its hand touches liquid and it’s yanking itself backwards like the stuff is poison, hissing in anger.

“Wait, did you see that?” Stiles asks and the Alpha wants to answer with a resounding and completely sarcastic ‘no’.  But the relief at what this means and what Stiles concludes is too great, if fading fast.  “I don’t think it can swim”

It can’t swim, which means that Derek and Stiles are going to live a little bit longer.  If Stiles can hold him up for long enough that the paralytic wears off, he can fight back and get them out of this mess.  That plan just relies on this teenager treading water while holding him up for however long that takes.  Derek knows Stiles doesn’t like him, oh, he can smell the arousal the teenager feels whenever he sees Derek shirtless or doing something that could be considered sexual to a teenage mind, but he also knows that Stiles’ feelings only extend to lust, just like Derek’s own.  Ignoring the Alpha’s admiration for Stiles’ loyalty to Scott, and his ability to get things done—after a whole ton of protesting and sarcasm—they both only hold lust for each other.  And distain?  Anyways, point being, Derek is a liability to Stiles, and as soon as the teenager realizes that, Stiles’ best bet at survival is to let the Alpha go, let him drown.  But if the creature doesn’t go away, Derek is Stiles’ chance for survival as soon as the paralytic wears off, so he can’t let go.  Derek doesn’t think he’ll let go, and isn’t that weird thing to think, the degree of trust required to not believe someone will let you die when it’s in their better interest to do so.  If he had been here with anyone other than Stiles, he thinks he would be asserting his worth right away, instead of remaining silent.  He wonders why he isn’t.

 

Derek isn’t sure how long he mulls on that for, doesn’t know how long he watches the creature prowling around and watching them right back.  He thinks its hours.  Hours of silence while Stiles is holding him up, and isn’t that just an odd concept?  Derek had never thought that the human could keep his mouth shut for more than five minutes, let alone how long they’ve been here.  But they exist and wait for nothing in silence, and he thinks that he’s beginning to miss the teenager’s voice, wants to hear him speak just to know that they’re both still alive.  Wants this until Stiles does speak.   

“Okay, okay, I don’t think I can do this much longer.”  Stiles pants, and Derek has a moment where he knows that teenagers going to let go, when he’s almost thankful that whatever trust he has doesn’t run so deep that it cannot be overcome by instinct.  Trust is the easiest way to die.

When he notices Stiles looking over at his phone and figures out what he’s thinking, that infuriating faith comes back that even if Stiles lets go, he’ll come back.  Not that Derek wants him to let go, in fact, he very much doesn’t want to be alone and unmoving in this frigid water.

“No, no, no, no, don’t even think about it!”  Derek protests, trying desperately to move his arms to cling to the human, as pathetic as that sounds when one is an Alpha, so perhaps it’s a good thing it doesn’t work.  But he doesn’t want to be alone, doesn’t want to be forced to believe in Stiles.

“Can’t you just trust me this once?”  Stiles pleads and the Alpha barely lets him get the full sentence out before he’s denying it with a sharp ‘no!’

It’s amusing how Stiles is speaking aloud the question Derek has been asking himself for however long they’ve been in this pool.  Some distant part of his brain is laughing at him for just how much he wants to trust Stiles, laughing because he said no to being alone and helpless rather than to trusting _Stiles_ to come back for him.  Derek trusts that people will look out for themselves, it’s been so long since he’s trusted someone to look out for him too.  He wants to.

“I’m the one keeping you alive okay?  Have you noticed that?” Stiles demands as if Derek could forget how helpless he is.

Using the reasoning he’s been holding onto for however long it’s been, Derek replies, “Ya, and when the paralysis wears off? Who’s going to be able to fight that thing, you or me?”  Stiles will look out for himself, that he can believe easier.

“So that’s why I’ve been holding you up the past two hours?” The sentence is put sarcastically and with a lit at the end, and Derek wants to stop time to think on it, to let in the spark of warmth that threatens when he thinks maybe that isn’t the reason he’s been held up. 

But to have it said so easily is more than he can handle, so he tries to impress the validity of his own worth instead of taking Stiles at his own word, “You don’t trust me, and I don’t trust you,” (Lies) “But you need me to survive, which is why you’re not letting me go!”

Stiles keeps on glancing over to his phone and Derek knows that the teenager _is_ going to let him go, is going to call Scott, and get help from a werewolf he actually trusts.  Derek believes he’ll come back for the Alpha, but maybe he won’t.  The human’s face sets in determination and Derek yells out his name, desperate for another outcome.  And then he’s underneath the surface and falling, everything muted by the water.

He can’t believe that Stiles would let him drown, refuses to believe it as if that would make some difference.  Stiles may not like Derek, but he’s been prepared to do things for the Alpha before, even not wanting to.  Hiding Derek from his father, the time that Derek insisted the human cut his arm off.  They both had to have known that his threats were empty, meaningless.  Had Derek tried to tear out the others throat, he would’ve died for certain, and had Stiles called his dad back, he would’ve been arrested.  Stiles bucking up and helping him both times had been his own choice, and Derek’s threats when poisoned by wolfsbane had been his way of dealing with fear of death and the complete agony.   Stiles won’t now leave him to drown, despite not liking him.

The realization that he actually believes that to a far extent is surprising, but then again the first thing he did when the lizard creature came was turn his back and tell Stiles to run.  So perhaps it is both of them protecting the other.  While Derek didn’t really want Stiles dead because of the loss of all his loyalty, perseverance and intelligence—regardless that the human’s attributes didn’t belong to Derek—he didn’t know what is in it for the other.  No, the teenager wasn’t a killer, nor one to stand idly by when he could do something to help, but two hours holding someone up in a pool was very different than being prepared to take a bone saw to an arm.  Or really, was it?

And then there are arms around him again and he’s being pulled up and out of the water, back into air which he greedily draws in despite having been underwater for such a short time.  So grateful and so angry at the teenager once again holding him up, Derek gasps, trying to play away from his relief by demanding to know if Stiles got his phone.  The silence he gets in return is answer enough.  So they’re back to where they were before, Stiles holding Derek up until the paralysis wears off, something that, from the amount he’s able to move his fingers, will likely happen in the next half hour.  But they aren’t really back there, are they.  Because Stiles came back for him, is once again holding him up.

“I can’t stay up any longer.”  Stiles says, and Derek can tell by how weak his treading water has become that the human’s strength has run out.  But the lizard creature is still hiss-screaming at them, and there’s nothing for Stiles to hold onto that it can’t reach.  In other words, they’re fucked. 

However, Stiles is staring at Derek like he knows something the Alpha doesn’t, like he has an idea, but a terrible one. 

“Can you trust me?”  Stiles repeats his earlier question, but the verbal response hasn’t miraculously changed since the question was last asked, and Derek glares at him without words, not wanting to deny again for some reason.  Surprisingly, unlike the previous times he’s done so, this time his glare is met with a smile, strained, but there nonetheless. 

Stiles takes a deep breath of air and holds it for a few seconds before releasing, unintentionally blowing into the water and spraying some of it into Derek’s face, wincing after he does so.

“What are you doing?”  Derek asks, a foreboding feeling reaching him full force.  The human smells guilty, upset, a tinge of eagerness?  Not a good combination. 

Stiles tightens his grip on Derek, shifting them around so that the Alpha in resting on him more than he’s holding the other up.  Against he hesitates, but then Stiles is biting down on his own wrist and Derek comes to the conclusion that he’s insane.  He lets out a noise of question and horror, but can’t quite put it into words because of the, _strangeness_ of what is happening, at watching as Stiles practically gnaws at his wrist.  The smell of blood fills the air and the lizard creature lets out an excited cry while Derek can do nothing but stare as Stiles pulls back, blood smeared over the lower half of his face and running in thick rivets down his arm from the deep wound he self-inflicted

“I’m really sorry about this Derek, you’ve no idea.  But this needs to happen as quickly as possible.” Stiles’ voice is once again completely steady, calm in the face of whatever horrible thing he’s planning to do.  “Please trust me.  Breathe out.”

Derek doesn’t want to, sees no reason to do so, but the water around them is being stained with Stiles’ blood and really does it make a difference if he empties his lungs when Stiles tells him to?  If the other has a plan Derek can’t see it, but that little voice in the back of his head is mocking him again and he breathes out.   His lungs are empty and he goes to breathe back in again, but then Stiles’ wrist is in front of his mouth and instead of air, he’s taking in blood. 

Sputtering and trying to spit it out does nothing, one hands on the back of his head pressing him forward and Derek’s unable to do anything but desperately gasp, attempting to draw in some small amount of air alongside the blood he knows is making its way to his lungs.  It _burns_ , hurts like hell, his body attempting to cough, but having taken in too much of the crimson liquid for the splatter he gets out to make any difference.  Derek can’t wrench his head around to look at Stiles and figure out why he’s doing this, so he strains his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of the human’s face.  Trying to figure out why Stiles has betrayed his unspoken and reluctant trust like this.

When he does, he’s so confused.  He’s being forced to breathe in blood, fucking _drowning_ in the stuff, and Stiles is crying, tears running down his cheeks and upset agony written all over his face as watches Derek die.  Then the Alpha’s eyes are snapping shut and he can feel darkness closing in, his already pathetic struggles growing weaker as what little control he started to have over his body fails. 

But the darkness _isn’t_ coming, and Derek forces his eyes back open to find out why.  Why he’s stopped gasping for air he is being denied.  The sight he’s met with is not Stiles.  Or at least, not what Stiles should look like.  The human—human?—is treading water and holding Derek up without difficulty now, and his eyes are different.  Gone are the gorgeous honey orbs that Derek would never admit to thinking about, instead replaced by endless black, with bursts and trails of color.  Stiles’ mouth opens in a grin and sharp fangs are presented instead of white teeth, joy written on his face even if Derek can’t smell it.  Then all that is momentarily forgotten as Stiles pulls his arm away from Derek’s mouth and the Alpha doesn’t start breathing again.  _Then_ there’s nothing but horror, at the fact that Stiles, the spazy sarcastic human, just drowned Derek in own his fucking blood, and yet Derek isn’t dead. 

Derek’s so caught up in his fear that he misses Stiles swimming to the edge and pulling them out of the pool.  He can’t feel the concrete underneath him, can’t feel anything, is lost in his own head.  And Stiles is screaming at the lizard creature, standing between it and Derek’s dead body, because that’s what he is now, isn’t he.  Dead, and this so horrible, how is this death, how could this be it?  Just nothing without the ability to do anything?  Without even being able to hear or feel his heartbeat, because it had stopped? 

Derek misses whatever happens next, whatever gets the creature to leave, but his mind returns to looking outwards because Stiles is leaving too, and he definitely notices that, he can’t understand _why_ Stiles is leaving him.  Why the teenager killed him and is, oh _fuck_ , is going over to Erica.  Derek knows he’s a shit Alpha, but he can’t let Stiles kill his Beta as well as him!  Not that he can do anything about it.  He can’t even struggle because he’s disconnected from his body, he’s not really there.  He can’t even move his eyes, seeing everything either dead on or in his peripheral vision.

When Stiles merely pulls out Erica’s phone, does something and then puts it back with her, Derek wants to weep in relief.  Stiles, whatever he is now, isn’t going to kill her. 

“So I already told you ahead of time that I was sorry.”  Stiles says, his voice curling oddly as he talks through fangs he shouldn’t have. 

All is lost to him but sight and hearing, and Derek wishes he could smell so that he’d at least have a hint to the identity of whatever terrible creature Stiles has become.  And isn’t that perfect?  They have to deal with the Argents, the lizard creature, and now Stiles?  Of course, Derek doesn’t have to deal with them anymore, he’s dead.  He doesn’t know who’ll become Alpha next.

“You’re probably going to rip my throat out, but I want to explain some things before you do.”  Stiles continues, as if Derek could rip his throat out while unable to do anything.  He would though, if he could.  He had _trusted_ Stiles.  “First off, I’m a demon.”

Demon?  Shit.  Seriously, this just went from bad to worse.  And now the _demon_ , is sitting down in front of Derek, hesitating before pulling the Alpha off the concrete and into his lap.  Gentle, almost caring in a way Stiles had never been towards him before, in a way no one had been to him since Laura left for Beacon Hills.

“Second, ripping my throat out won’t kill me anymore, so you can do it if it makes you feel better, but I’m not going to tell you what will.  Oh, and the fact that I’m cuddling you is just to keep your body temperature up, not that I’m any hotter.  Temperature wise, the other way you’re hotter, but that’s really not what I’m talking about right now, and I can’t ramble because blood loss means I might pass out before I’ve drowned, and then you’d grow cold and I wouldn’t be able to get you back, and that would really suck after I just spent the past two hours keeping you alive, not to mention Turned myself into a demon to keep up both alive when I could’ve totally gotten away if I had let you die.  Not that I wasn’t a demon before, ‘cause I was, just that it was dormant, I was a dormant-demon, and now I’m a demon-demon.” Stiles rambles, and Derek wonders what the hell he’s talking about, how he’s suddenly returned from silence to his usual state of word vomit.  Perhaps even past that usual state.

Derek is already dead, so why is Stiles saying he doesn’t want him to die?  The teenager had been the one to kill him in the first place.  And why would a demon want to keep him alive?  Derek hadn’t even known demon’s existed, but everything he has heard about the mythological demon says they’re hell creatures, Satin-spawn.  His mind just keeps running in circles, unable to deal. 

“It’s really weird being a demon-demon, you’ve no idea.  I feel like I’m high, or drunk, really loopy and all, total chaos.  Time limit Stiles, time limit.”  Stiles cuts himself off mid rant, frowning and returning to stare at Derek.  “You’re my anchor.  That’s how we become demons, and how we aren’t completely feral beings incapable of anything but destruction and killing, which, while those sound awesome, I feel I shouldn’t do.  It’s the principle of the thing, you know?  I’m sorry I had to drown you, but the only other option was drowning in water, and I can’t bring you back from that.  I’m not even sure why I’m bringing you back from this.  Not that I want you to die, it’s just that if I do this, I’m tying our lives together, permanently, no take backs, forever, all that jazz.  You die I die, I die you die, lots of jazz, so much jazz.  I wasn’t going to do this, but it’s either this or you die, and that sucks.  Other demons would let you stay dead, ‘cause that’s what we’re supposed to do with our anchors, what I’m supposed to do with you, but I don’t want to.   I guess this means I’m part of your pack now, which I suppose I can live with, unless you kick me out, but even then I’ll still follow you, because you’re mine now, you belong to me.”

The demon takes a deep breath and the Alpha tries to flinch away, disconnected from his body even more than he had been with only the lizard creature’s venom paralyzing him.  Demons kill their anchors?  For one, Derek wants to ask how that even works, and second he wants to threaten Stiles into bringing him back however he can, not following whatever norm there was and letting him die in his own head.  And why does this mean Derek belongs to Stiles? The demon moves away instead of answering unspoken questions and instantly Derek wants him back, still not wanting to be alone, wanting to be with someone, even if he loathes the one he is with.  Loathes, right?  Because Stiles killed him.

Thankfully The teenager leaves only far enough to arrange Derek on his lap and the ground in front of him, manipulating his lax body so that the Alpha’s body is tilted away, his legs drawn up and one wrist on the ground, the other resting on the back of Stiles’ neck. 

One last time he turns Derek’s face so he could meet his frozen eyes apologetically, speaking a warning.  “Okay Derek, I know you hate me right now and probably want to kill me, but this is important.  I’m going to cut open your wrist and drown myself in your blood, and you need to make sure it happens.  For a while I’ll be able to make myself, but by the time you start being able to move again, I’ll automatically be pulling away.  You can’t let me, kay?  Keep me breathing in your blood.  Afterwards, I promise you can attack me, get angry, do whatever, but you need to listen to me on this, or none of it will have been worth it.  I’m not really sure that it was in the first place, but hey, we’ll figure it out as we go.”  Here he pauses and grins.  “It’ll be our little secret Derek.  Of fangs, claws, blood, and eyes colored by the universe.  I’ll have to trust you, and you’ll have to trust me.”

With that confusing statement and play on what Derek had said earlier, Stiles quirks his mouth up into something attempting to resemble a smile and releases Derek’s head so it lolls to the side, staring at his wrist.  A clawed finger comes into view, sliding neatly and unfeelingly through Derek’s skin, a small amount of blood welling up despite how deep the demon had cut.  Then Stiles’ leans down over the wound, the demon breathing out to get all the air out of his lungs, sealing his lips over the wound, and breathing in. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second chapter was demanded, and here it is. I really didn't plan on writing any follow up to the first chapter, so I'm sorry if this isn't as good.   
> It's again Stiles' POV during the first part, with a kind of omnipresent future timeline, and then the second part is Derek's POV in present tense directly after the events of the previous chapter.   
> Do enjoy!

It’s different being a demon, far scarier and yet _far_ more exciting than Stiles expected.  When he’s in his second form he can feel his tail lashing around, his sharpened teeth sliding closed and taking up new spaces in his gums, his claws, his talons shifting into view, strong and able to tear through pretty much anything, despite how fragile long human nails are.  Everything’s clearer, smells stronger, and feels more sensitive.  It’s extremely apparent even in the first little while of being a demon that while wolves have their noses to lead them around, demons have their eyes.  He can’t feel his eyes when they change though, despite being able to change them at will.  He knows they’ve changed, can see his own reflection, swirls of color that never used to be there, bright lights popping in and out of existence, eyes colored by the universe.  But there’s little conscious thought to keeping them changed and so he can easily forget that they’re not brown.

His sight’s changed too, and more than just in being able to see better than a freaking raptor.  Stiles can see potential for corruption. It hovers behind everyone he sees, a thin ever-changing colorless film, screaming at him with meaning to their different levels of incorporeity.  The people with fainter ghosts, glows, shades, whatever they are, are those who it’ll take lots of time to force into outwardly destructive madness, madness that tears at people other than themselves.  But the people whose shades are almost solid, opaque white shadows at the edge of vision?  Stiles quickly learns that almost opaque shades means a person could destroy, go mad, tear, rip and _annihilate_ everything around them, if he or someone else only made them.  (He doesn’t know _how_ to make them, his mom never told him he could) 

The shades are almost always changing.  At one point in time someone could have a shade that’s almost non-existent, and then a practically white shade the next.  They’re always there too, in Stiles’ memories and unshifted vision.  Yes, they can be ignored with practice, but he always sees the ever-changing shades of chaos behind people, remembers what they look like even for those long dead and gone.  It’s hard to deal with wanting to sew chaos when he’s playing human and seeing shades, hard enough without knowing exactly how _easy_ some people are to break.  Like the Joker said in The Dark Knight, _“All it takes is a little push!”_ Stiles desperately wants to push some people, show them how alike gravity and madness are, the darkness everyone’s born with…   But there’s something stopping him, something telling him, ‘not good’, ‘not right’, ‘don’t’.  Something his mom did tell him about, even if she died before she could go in depth to what it means.  To what Derek now means.  Stiles’ awakened anchor.

It’s nothing like what Scott describes, with how Allison is his anchor, someone he thinks about and remembers the smell of in order to come back to human.  Nope, definitely not.  This is _absolute_ , all-consuming, just, _Derek_ , _Derek_ , _Derek_ on endless repeat.  Stiles can always feel him, always knows which direction he’s in and whether he’s alive, it’s like a part of Stiles’ mind is always with him, because—as Stiles later realizes when looking for his Alpha’s shade—the demon _himself_ is Derek’s shade.  Stiles is the white ghost that trails after his Alpha, his awakened anchor, able to destroy him or rebuild, and representing the chaos within Derek.  If his Alpha is in a bad mood or wants to kill someone, there’s practically nothing keeping Stiles from doing just that.  He has to stay away from the Argents, ‘cause he knows if he sees the ones Derek hates most, he’ll kill them without a second thought.  (And then he’ll laugh, because he did something _good_ for his anchor)

It’s, weird, being so obsessed with a guy Stiles barely knew existed such a short time ago, but that’s all he can describe it as.  Obsession.  For the first little while it feels like nothing matters except the Alpha, but Stiles does slowly regain his mind.  Yah, it’s still completely taken over by Derek, but he can just think past him, care about people other than him, use him for Stiles’ wants, manipulate him.  And oh, but isn’t that the part Stiles hates.  He hates how _easy_ it would be to turn his anchor into a puppet, hang strings over him and make him dance to whatever tune Stiles desires. Keep him alive by directing his every move, so there are no surprises.  He thinks he did something wrong that he wants to control his anchor so much, but then again, maybe it’s just the demon part of him talking, telling him to take control before the other does.  Yet the other way around?  It’s so _nice_ when the other takes control, so fucking lovely when he slams Stiles up against the wall, claws biting into the demon’s skin as anger is roared into his face.  Having Derek manipulate him and use him is great, because then Stiles can figure out what the other wants and change it ‘til it works.  When Derek proves that he can, to some extent, take care of himself, that Stiles doesn’t have to watch his every step to protect him.  In those moments it’s almost calm.

Nothing else is calm.  Stiles’ mind still moves a hundred times faster than his mouth, his ADHD certainly hasn’t gone away, and he thinks he’s in love with chaos, but he’s calm when he’s around Derek.  Especially when his Alpha is attempting to scare him into a complete submission he’ll never receive—Stiles will submit, but he’ll do anything to make sure Derek stays alive, and that includes disobeying orders.  It’s push-pull, love-hate, give-take.  Stiles is aware he’s destroyed Derek’s trust, been given it and used it to drown him, despite the fact that it saved both of their lives.  By drowning himself with Derek in return, he gave that trust back, gave him a huge amount of trust and power over Stiles life.  But Derek doesn’t know that, his Alpha knows nothing about demons, about how twisted they are, how they treat their anchors, how Stiles wants to do, _will_ do anything to protect him, even if it makes Stiles the monster more than he has become.  Derek doesn’t know that awakening anchors is only something done for loved ones. 

It would be much easier if he did know, maybe Stiles would even get some of that trust back quicker.  It’d be easier than what Stiles is already planning to do, to pull Scott into Derek’s pack, help with the lizard thing they later realize is a kanima, help train the Betas, be there for his Alpha, fight for his anchor.  But Stiles is never going to tell him, because telling him runs too close to manipulating him for his own ends, which is something Stiles never wants to do to his gorgeous, destructive anchor.  Never wants to hurt him even though he really does, he craves it, craves pain and chaos and destruction, but never death for his anchor, because that would mean death for himself, even more than the physical death. 

Stiles has a theory though—one proved by claws in his skin and teeth at his neck—that if Derek gives those things to Stiles instead of vice versa, the demon will be calm, happy with having their mutual ownership confirmed, even if it isn’t intended.  (Stiles want to be calm)

 

~*~

 

Derek can feel his heartbeat.  Hear his heart starting to beat again, staring to push blood through valves, arteries, arterioles, capillaries, and veins, but somehow most importantly, out his arm and into Stiles’ mouth, throat, and lungs.  His first instinct upon recovering senses from that horrible half-death he had been stuck in was to get away from the threat, get away from Stiles, or kill him if fleeing isn’t possible.  His first _thought_ is to note that the demon is pulling back to breathe, which tumbles Derek right into recalling the last thing Stiles said.  That Derek would need to make sure the demon also drowned, despite the fact that following the orders of someone who had just butchered his trust like Stiles had is practically imaginable. 

Stiles’ bodies ingrained survival response has him choking out Derek’s blood to take in needed air and the Alpha feels his heartbeat once again growing weaker, his mind attempting to return to the hazy state it had been after Stiles drowned him.  What was that he had thought even earlier?  That people look out for themselves?  So it doesn’t really matter if he’s following orders, if not following them means he’ll die.   With an angry breath of air and the last bit of motion still available to him, Derek presses Stiles’ head forward, shoving it into his arm and holding him there like Derek had been held in the middle of the pool.  The demon starts struggling after a few seconds, but by then Derek has enough movement again to keep him still, to roll over so he’s the one on top, because he’s a fucking Alpha and he won’t let himself be put in a position like that again.  Where his trust is always broken.

When Stiles stops breathing however, Derek’s thoughts take on a different note and he pushes himself off the demon, not wanting them to be touching.  Was his trust really broken?  Because Stiles killed him, but he also brought the Alpha back, and now both of them are alive and the lizard creature is gone.  Well, Derek’s alive, but he’s assuming Stiles will come back too, any moment now.  The point remains that Stiles held his arm over Derek’s mouth while the Alpha was helpless, but the end result changes the infinitesimal or non-existent amount of trust he has left from the already small amount he had in Stiles.  Because the demon saved him by killing him.  Practically poetry.

A gasp chases all thought from Derek’s mind and he stares as the demon props himself up on his elbows, coughing up nothing despite the blood Derek knows is filling his lungs.  It’s more strange and makes Derek freeze because he realizes he can feel Stiles, there’s all of a sudden this little knot like thing in the back of his head that pulses out _Stiles_ , and if the Alpha’s eyes hadn’t already been on him they would’ve been drawn there by the knowledge that Stiles is in _that_ direction, there, right there, existing, alive, connected.  The demon proves he has the same knowledge in his head by looking up and meeting Derek’s eyes without any misaiming or glancing around, and the Alpha stills further at the endless black he’s presented with, his werewolf eyes picking out colors amidst the dark and light.

“Derek” Stiles coughs out, pushing himself up to hands and knees and reaching towards the Alpha. 

Instantly Derek is pressed up against the wall meters away, no memory of having scrambled over, but from the way his hands are flattened to the ground and his chest is heaving he knows it’s because of some sort of instinctive fear.  Wrong, all wrong.  Derek should be getting angry like he had been when drowning Stiles, should be tearing out the demon’s throat, taking his Beta and running, but all he can think of is not being near Stiles, but having him in sight because Stiles killed him.  Stiles is not good. 

“Oh come on, don’t be like that!” The demon whines but thankfully doesn’t come closer, hurt and an overwhelming amount of guilt coloring the part of his scent reserved for emotions.

Stiles’ base scent has changed, and Derek finds himself cataloging the differences.  There’s pine and earth as always, the sharp edge of medication and a warm lit of honey that goes with the eyes Stiles is currently hiding.  Then there are two new scents, a different underlying scent that Derek can’t quite recognize, a touch that belongs in shaded and sketchy places at night, from the grit of an alleyway, a house abandoned and forgotten, the threat of an Alpha’s eyes turning red, the flash of fang and teeth.  But for now the second scent is more interesting, more even, dare he say it, pleasing?  Stiles smells like Derek.  Like _Derek’s_. 

Derek opens his mouth to ask why, or what, or ask _something_ , but then another thought hits him that takes his breath away.  If Stiles smells like Derek’s possession, does Derek smell like Stiles’?  The other wolves will be able to tell then, they’ll be able to tell that Stiles and Derek are now _Stiles_ and _Derek_.  Wait what?  Just because Stiles is in the back of his head, doesn’t mean that they’ve become one person.  Stiles isn’t even in his pack, for fucks sake, and it’s not like he wants the kid to be.

_“I guess this means I’m part of your pack now, which I suppose I can live with, unless you kick me out, but even then I’ll still follow you, because you’re mine now, you belong to me.”_

Oh hell, Derek’s going to go insane.  This is too much, too fucking much, he was just dead, before that he was paralyzed and helpless, Stiles killed him, but now he’s alive again, and he has the demon in his head!  And before all of that, Laura’s dead and Peter killed her, he’s insane and Derek is all alone and what the hell’s happening?  Why is this happening now?  Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is all wrong, all bad. 

No.  No, he can’t have this freak out now, can’t show this weakness—except it’s _Stiles_ that he’s showing weakness to, Stiles is somehow safe.  Taking a deep breath Derek looks back up from where he’d shoved his head into his knees to find Stiles barely a foot away, one hand reaching out and face a mask of sympathy.  No, not a mask, the demon smells like he’s actually unhappy that Derek’s unhappy, underneath the jitteriness and new scents.  That’s even worse, so Derek snarls at him wordlessly to get him to back up, grateful when it works and they sit there staring at one another. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed before there’s a noise from outside and Derek catches the smell of Scott a second before the teenager bursts into the room, calling out for Stiles.  The demon’s head jerks up and he is completely human again, the overwhelming smell of Derek and a lessened touch of (shadow?) the only things exposing him as _other_.

“Stiles?  Derek?  What?” Scott exclaims in confusion, half turned and shifting back to human. 

The Alpha pushes himself to his feet as casually as he can, rising in sync with Stiles and turning to look at Scott.  The Beta looks horrified and Derek belatedly remembers the blood covering himself and Stiles, staining the water in the pool.  You know what?  Fuck that, Stiles can explain. 

Loving having a direction again for something else he can do, Derek walks over to check on Erica, not looking at Scott or Stiles as he passes them. 

“No really, what the hell happened?  Stiles, are you alight?” Scott asks, his voice more than just tinged in panic.

“Oh I’m fine, no worries, what are you doing here?”  The responding question from Stiles doesn’t surprise Derek as much as he thinks it should. 

Stiles did go to phone Scott, but the Beta doesn’t have Stiles’ trait of unconditional loyalty and wasn’t guaranteed to have answered.  Previously Derek had needed to send Erica to fetch Stiles in order to ask him questions, but he knows had Scott needed the demon all he would’ve needed to do was call and Stiles would’ve come.  It’d be amazing to have someone like that, like Stiles. 

“The bestiary’s on the flash drive” Scott announces, his eyes following Derek now “What did you do?”

Because of course _Derek_ was the one to do something, the instant person to blame when something goes wrong.  He ignores the fact that he was the one to ask Erica to bring Stiles here in the first place, but if Scott had arrived minutes earlier Derek wouldn’t be so confused right now, so off balance.  And if Stiles hadn’t _drowned_ him, then… well, then he’d be dead at the bottom of the pool.  It’s an amazing thing when one betrays trust by living up to it, and Derek doesn’t know how Stiles managed it.  He wants to talk with the demon, but he doesn’t want to have to use words or be stuck in a conversation he doesn’t want to have.  He wants the demon.

“Erica” He murmurs, crouching down and pressing lightly on her shoulder, taking enough of her background pain from being knocked out that she wakes up. 

Her eyes open easily but she looks away after seeing him, avoiding meeting Derek’s gaze as guilt lightly covers her scent, evidently from having been knocked out and unable to help.  He stands back up, completely off balance with his Beta as well now and not knowing what to do to fix that. 

“The lizard thing was here” Stiles is informing Scott in the background, and Derek determinedly avoids looking at him

“How’d you get it to leave?” Scott asks incredulously, confusion practically oozing from him.  Derek thinks the Beta should be feeling more concern than he is, considering both him and Stiles are covered in each other’s blood.  But most of the concern has dissipated now that they show no outward signs of fear or panic.

Stiles answers easily, leaving out everything that had passed between him and Derek.  “I’ve no idea, it threw me at the mirror, saw its reflection and ran.”  Oh.  Well then.

Considering the way Stiles’ heartbeat is steady during the second part of that sentence, Derek knows what they’re facing, and isn’t that wonderful.   

“C’mon, I’ve got my laptop, we can look it up on the bestiary.”  Scott says after a moment of contemplation, holding up a lanyard and keys.

Erica’s now healed and standing so Derek doesn’t have an excuse to ignore the other two anymore, but he still refuses to look at Stiles’ face.  From the way Scott isn’t freaking out he belatedly assumes the demon’s eyes are back to normal, but he knows if he looks that he’ll only be able to see fangs and a ring of blood around Stiles’ mouth. 

Derek expects the demon to leap right at the chance of going and seeing the ‘amazing’ bestiary, but to his surprise he finds that the demon is hesitating, can _feel_ Stiles looking at him.  But the Alpha doesn’t say anything and so the other goes with Scott, a slow pace like he’s waiting for Derek to come too.  

“Are you okay?”  Erica actually sounds quite concerned, and Derek glances over at her. 

He feels woozy from blood loss, has no idea where all of the liquid that was in his lungs went, knows that he reeks like Stiles, and more than that knows just from the expression on his Beta’s face that she’s aware he’s not okay, but is giving him the courtesy of asking anyway in case he wants to admit it.  Because for some reason he doesn’t want to try such an obvious lie, Derek tells her he knows what the lizard creature is instead.  They’ll have to tell Stiles and Scott as well, but she should know first.

 

Derek knows Erica’s watching him like he’s going to fall apart at any second as they leave the building and walk up behind where Scott and Stiles are inspecting a laptop.  She’s not the best at scents, but the confusion, Stiles, and belated horror must be pouring off him in waves.  The direction they’re approaching the others from is the long way around too, but he doesn’t think she notices that it means they’re conveniently further away from Stiles.  It was quite the mental debate, deciding to come around from this side.  Contrary to intelligence perhaps, but Derek wants to be close to Stiles, and therefore shouldn’t be.

“How are we supposed to figure out what this thing is?”  Scott exclaims in annoyance

Deciding he might as well speak, Derek cuts in with an answer.  “It’s called a kanima.”

“You knew the whole time?” Derek thinks Stiles meant to make the words accusing, but they come out questioning, ready to believe when Derek says no, still not looking at him.

“Only when it was confused by its own reflection.” Derek elaborates, trying to ignore the way he sees Stiles pushing forward out of the corner of his eye so the demon’s standing slightly in front of Scott.

The others might take it as a protective movement around his werewolf friend, but Derek smells the desire coming off him, notes the fidgeting as if Stiles is trying not to reach for him.  The Alpha doesn’t flinch back.  He _doesn’t,_ and he wouldn’t want to anyways.

“It doesn’t know what it is.” Scott realizes aloud

“Or who” Derek agrees, watching Scott instead. 

“What else can you tell us?”  Again Stiles words are too soft for the antagonistic relationship him and the Alpha had always had, and this time he think Scott notices by the small frown of confusion the Beta displays. 

“Just stories, rumors.” He attempts to answer naturally, taking comfort in having his Beta at his side, and ignoring the comfort he also takes in Stiles being so close.

“But, it’s like us?” Scott asks, and Derek thinks that the other might feel compassion. 

To try and explain more of the space between them and the kanima, Derek searches for words.  “A shapeshifter yes, but it’s, it’s not right, it’s like a,” He doesn’t know how to explain it, but his mind’s drawing parallels between it and what he saw Stiles become.  His wolf’s howling at the comparison, furious and Derek doesn’t know why. 

Then the reason _why_ speaks, a touch of hurt in his voice as if he knows the comparisons Derek’s making.  “An abomination.”

Derek makes the mistake of looking at Stiles to nod, and then he can’t look away.  His wolf, previously paralyzed and angry at the kanima is now whimpering pleadingly, trying to get Derek to go forward, to press his face into the demon’s neck and breathe in.  But still he tries to argue that Stiles isn’t safety, that Stiles is not good, he’s a _demon._ He can’t be good, right?  Neither of them can.

Completely thrown off balance again, Derek forces himself to turn to go, to look at Erica and remember that _she_ is pack, and Stiles is not, whatever he says or Derek might want.

“Derek!”  Scott is the one to call him back, and Derek pretends that’s why he stops, and not the almost inaudible whine Stiles had let out when he broke their gaze. “We need to work together on this.”  And then Scott destroys whatever good grace he may have gotten from that by adding, “Maybe even tell the Argents.”

“You trust them.” He spits, turning back and just keeping in a snarl of rage at the idea of working with those hunters. 

“Nobody trusts anyone.”  Scott counters, not understanding just who exactly the Argents are, so naïve to _what_ they are. “That’s the problem!  While we’re here, arguing over who’s on what side, there’s something stronger, faster, and scarier than any of us, and it’s killing people!  And we still don’t know anything about it!”

“I trust Derek.”  Stiles voice is a complete shocker to all of them, the conviction behind it flooring the Alpha as they whip around to stare at the demon who is watching Derek intently.  Stiles’ head is tilted slightly as he looks at him, and a soft smile dances on his lips.  “And I don’t think we should involve the Argents.”

“What?  But Stiles, since when?”  Scott inquires confusedly, looking as shell shocked as Derek feels, though he adds in puppy-eyes with his confusion.

Stiles addresses Derek first, looking at the Alpha all the while.  “Well I’ll admit you’ve made some pretty shitty decisions, but I want to help.  I think you’re debating about having me in your pack, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re mine.”  Here’s where he turns to Scott, and Derek wonders what words the demon will pull out for this, what he’ll tell his friend.  “Scott, I’ll tell you what happened later, but I really think you should give Derek a chance, work with him.  It’s not his fault you’re a werewolf.”

“He took away the cure!” Scott argues, so fixated on not wanting to be what he is, dropping his previous argument in favor of this old one Derek doesn’t understand. 

“But that was based on rumors!  Imagine that those rumors were false, that you killed Peter and became the Alpha instead.  You’d be a newly turned _Alpha_ werewolf, with little to no control and no one to keep you in line.  You’re a good person and everything, so can you imagine if you’d shifted and killed people?  How that’d would’ve felt?”  Stiles asks, eyebrows raised pleadingly as he defends Derek—he knows the pleading look is exaggerated when compared to Stiles’ scent. “So on one side there’s a slim chance that you’re no longer a werewolf, and on the other you’re killing people.  Working out like this, things are a lot better, you have to admit.”

Scott looks flabbergasted but also considering, and Derek wonders if maybe this is how Scott’ll join his pack.  On the tail end of a demon who killed him and is forcing his way into Derek’s pack—not that the Alpha doesn’t want him.

“I’m not yours.”  Derek says belatedly, the only response he can come up with, though it might not be the best thing to argue with someone defending him.  Everything he does tonight has been belated, pushing Stiles to run, trusting him, figuring out how to respond. 

But it has the desired result of bringing Stiles’ attention back to him, even though Derek can’t figure out _why_ that’s the desired result.  He doesn’t think he wants to be near Stiles, but his wolf is clambering over itself trying to push Derek towards the kid, to respond to the way the demon is creeping closer by moving forwards himself.  Derek mentally snarls that Stiles killed him, and his wolf spits out _safety_ like it’s a demand, a truth that he’s choosing to turn a blind eye to.  (His wolf always hated Kate)

“Yes you are, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll be yours too.” Stiles looks so fucking earnest, his multicolored eyes wide. 

Derek doesn’t know what to do with something like that.  Even his own Beta’s aren’t really his.  Oh yes, he was the one to bite them, he’s training them and they live with him, but he doesn’t believe for one second that if they found a better Alpha that they wouldn’t leave.  Stiles saying he’s Derek’s if Derek wants him where other people can hear, along with the truth of his heartbeat?  It’s mind blowing and Derek thinks he loves it.

“What are you?”  Erica speaks up for the first time, her voice soft and confused

Stiles’ grin is now sheepish and he scuffs his foot against the ground.  “I’m a demon.  I’ve always been one, it was just dormant then, and awake now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”  Scott’s giving Stiles ramped up puppy dog eyes now, and again Stiles’ affectionate reaction is exaggerated, overshadowed by the smell of chaos.  ( _Chaos_ , not shadows)

Derek misses Stiles’ response because he’s too busy realizing that he wants to talk with the demon, figure out what the hell’s happening and then plan on how best to survive it, together if at all possible.  He debates for a moment or two, but the argument is resolved when he pays enough attention to the conversation going on to find out that Stiles is telling Scott to go home without him and has convinced the Beta not to talk to the Argents until at least after he hears what Stiles has to say.

Turning to his Beta, Derek instructs “Go meet up with Boyd, I need to talk to Stiles.”

Erica actually looks relieved, casting a narrow eyed glance from the demon to him before nodding and leaving.  It’s only a few more minutes before Stiles manages to convince Scott to do the same, and then they’re alone, watching the back of Scott’s car drive away. 

“I really am sorry about all this.”  Stiles is the first to break the silence, a couple minutes after Scott is gone.  “I never really wanted to become a demon, and you should’ve had a choice to becoming my anchor.”

“What is this.”  Derek asks without inflection so that he doesn’t come across as pleading or demanding, of which he is both.  Stiles defended him to Scott, he deserves to be heard, and Derek has enough pride and dignity that he doesn’t beg.

“ _This_ is fucked up.”  Is Stiles’ instant reply, but then he shakes his head, waving his hand in an appeasing gesture.  “Okay, sorry, that didn’t go anywhere, but I really don’t know how to explain this to you.”

“Why am I your anchor?”  Derek presses, deciding to help the conversation along.

“Oh, great starting point.  Kay, so demons are all born, but demons like me with one human parent only become demons after we create an anchor.  I knew the kanima would kill us if we tried to go up against it with me being a soft squishy human and you being paralyzed, so the only way I could think of to get us both out was to become a demon with you as my anchor.”  Here Stiles pauses, looking away and shifting guiltily.  And then he starts to explain.  About demon anchors, half-deaths, awakened anchors, the chaos thing, what Derek is to him, and what he is to Derek. 

“Wait, what do you mean we can draw on each other’s power?” Derek interrupts at one point, not liking the sound of that.  Power as in strength?  Life?  Just what exactly does Stiles now hold over him?

To his surprise Stiles laughs, “Of course you would focus on that.  Alright, I don’t _really_ know what it means, other than if either one of us is on verge of dying, if we hold on to the funky little bond thing in my, your, our minds, we can stay alive for a _really_ long time after we should’ve died, and can use it to speed up healing.  I assume ‘cause you’re a werewolf you can probably do more fancy things about it, but my mom died before she could really explain in depth, so I don’t exactly know, but can assure you it goes equal both ways.”

He trails off at the end, smelling sad from the comment on his mother.  Derek can sympathize, there’s so much he doesn’t know because his family died before it became important _to_ know.  It’s unexpected to find out that they’re both alike in that regards.

“I meant what I said,” Stiles continues suddenly, and Derek wonders what part of what he said is the demon talking about now.  “About wanting to help.  I really do.” The elaboration is appreciated, but the way Stiles physically approaches him is as concerning as the way Derek doesn’t want to retreat. 

He’s suddenly angry then, because this has to gain Stiles something.  People always want something in return, no matter how Stiles hadn’t wanted anything for holding Derek up in the pool.  Before he knows it he’s stalked forwards and shoved Stiles up against the nearest surface—the side of a van—voluntarily closer to Stiles than he wants to be and yet pressing closer all the same, knowing his eyes are red, fangs elongated and claws out. 

“And what do you get from helping.”  He snarls the demand, ignoring the thrill that goes through him at the way Stiles turns his head in response and bares his throat. 

A thin black tail that must belong to the demon curls around Derek’s wrist down from where he has his hand pressing into Stiles’ exposed neck, but despite the wicked point on it, Stiles doesn’t cut Derek, just wrapping around him and going lax and trusting. 

“An Alpha who’s fucking awesome.” The response is total left field, and Derek growls lowly at what could be mockery as Stiles continues speaking.  “You really could be, you know.  I mean, I know you’re just as new to being an Alpha as the rest of us are to not being human, but I want to help you with this as much as I can.  I need to protect the people I love, which basically includes my dad and Scott, and will now include you.”  He swallows and Derek’s tempted to press down on his hand, to watch bruises bloom and see just how trusting Stiles will be, how concrete Derek’s apparent newfound place in ‘loved’ people is.  But then the demon’s turning his head to look at him and Derek’s claws are cutting lines through his skin as he refuses to move away, blood dripping down Stiles’ neck that is ignored. 

Stiles’ grin is full of fangs and the way he meets Derek’s eyes is all defiance.  “Before this happened, there were only two people I ever imagined becoming my anchor.  Lydia and you, because I knew both of you are strong enough to handle keeping a demon from going insane.  The thing about Lydia though, that I’m only realizing now my head’s filled with chaos, is that she’s too bright.  Not bright like happy cheery, but clean bright, ordered, not _my_ type of chaos.

“You’re my anchor Derek” Stiles carries on, somehow managing to keep himself at a perfect balance between submitting to Derek and challenging him, a wonderful paradox that Derek knows he’ll come to crave.  “You’re the right type of chaos.  You won’t let me destroy everything, but you’re not such a moral person that you’ll hesitate to use me for doing so.  You’ve no fucking idea how fun this is all going to be, how happy I’m finding myself that you’re my anchor.”

Now it’s Derek’s turn to laugh incredulously, ignoring how true the comment about him not hesitating to use Stiles for destruction could be.  “And I don’t get a choice in this?  In ‘handling’ you?”

Stiles dips his head marginally—to the side so his neck’s still fully bared—swirling eyes looking up at Derek through thick lashes as he bites his lower lip.  A surge of want shoots through Derek and he mentally realizes that he’s going insane, what with all the different emotions he’d had bouncing around about Stiles in the past few hours.  From some lust with almost fond indifference to annoyance, reliance, trust, horror, fear, dislike, trust again, and now mind blowing want.  

The demon releases his lip and begins to talk, his voice seductive and holding no lies, “Alpha Derek Hale.  You’re my anchor now and you belong to me no matter what, but it’s your choice to let me be yours.  I’m offering you everything I am, will you accept?”

Derek stills for a few seconds, debating this one last time.  He knows Stiles isn’t going to let him go, has seen firsthand how devoted the demon can be to something once he has his sights set on it.  In fact, wasn’t his loyalty what Derek had been admiring most when thinking of Stiles’ positive traits?  Now that such loyalty is his, he can only imagine how amazing it’ll be to have someone who wants _him,_ and not just something he has.  Stiles is convinced that Derek belongs to him, it would be incredible if Derek could be convinced of the same thing.  Additionally, Stiles has already marked Derek as his in demon customs by drowning him, so isn’t it fair that Derek would get to mark Stiles back according to werewolves?

Decision made but still needing one last bit of solid evidence, Derek releases Stiles all at once as if he’s rejecting the demon.  Hurt flashes across Stiles’ face and sorrow taints his scent, but there is no dip in the loyalty reaching out to Derek, telling him exactly what he wants to know, the minimum level of how secure his trust in Stiles can be.  Giving in to his desire for touch now that he’s decided which side of the want/don’t want spectrum he’s on with Stiles, the Alpha runs his fingers through the demon’s short hair on the side of his head that’s tilted away, moderately disappointed that he can’t fist his hand in it. 

“You need to grow your hair out” Derek orders with a triumphant grin.  Then, before the demon can reply, he leans forward and sinks his fangs into the side of Stiles’ neck. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Stiles' Secret](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022466) by [The_Obfuscators_Canard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Obfuscators_Canard/pseuds/The_Obfuscators_Canard)




End file.
